


A Horse Called Lightening

by stormproofmatchgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Human Derek Hale, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, POV Derek Hale, Suicidal Thoughts, The Hale Family, s04e09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormproofmatchgirl/pseuds/stormproofmatchgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during "Perishable". Derek struggles with some dark thoughts and reaches out for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Horse Called Lightening

 

Maybe it’s because he already feels it happening, but somehow, Derek isn’t surprised by what Scott tells him. He’s dying. He doesn’t know how it’ll progress from here, after he’s lost all his werewolf abilities. Maybe his limbs will start falling off—he’ll go to brush his teeth one morning and his fingers will just sort of clatter into the sink. Or maybe he’ll start coughing up blood like some kind of morose Victorian poet. Peter would love that. When Derek was 16, not long after Paige, he’d written a few poems. Peter had found them of course, and teased him for weeks.

 

Scott clearly hates how nonplussed Derek is about the whole thing, tells him he should go see Deaton. But why bother? It’s not like they have blood tests they can run for ancient Aztec rituals that might be slowly killing you.

“Don’t need Deaton. I need Kate,” Derek explains.

Scott nods. “I know. And we’ll help you find her. We will. It’s just with the dead pool and everything…”

“Bad timing.”

Scott looks down at his feet, guilt-ridden. “So Braeden hasn’t—“

“Nope.”

It’s one of the more awkward conversations they’ve had in a while, and Derek sort of just wants Scott to leave because yeah, he gets that there are assassins running around town trying to kill everyone, but he doesn’t feel like coddling Scott right now to make him feel better about his choices. Neither of them are idiots and he shouldn’t need Derek to fucking tell him that this is okay. This is fine. He can handle this. He’s got Braeden, who he might not know better than his mailman, but she’s good, and efficient, and so what if she’s never around come breakfast time, at least she’s keeping him warm at night.

It’s better that way. No point in getting too close.

Anyways. Yeah. He can handle this.

After Scott leaves, Derek sits on the end of his bed and thinks about how when Parrish asked what they all were, he felt this weird sense of grief as he realized… _nothing. I’m nothing._ And he just feels so fucking disconnected, so unmoored. Like without his wolf-self, he’s already in limbo. And normally he’s a pretty patient person. But he can’t wait like this. He just wants it to be over. One way or another.

When he looks down at his hands, he sees the handgun. His index finger running circles around the safety. For a second, he thinks about giving up.

And then he thinks about Laura chasing him to San Francisco after the fire. How she found him at four in the morning on the Golden Gate Bridge, leaning over the railing, and she never asked what he was doing there. She didn’t have to. But the moment he saw her, he knew he wouldn’t go through with it.

He pulls out his phone.

_“Derek?”_

“Hey… is this a bad time? I mean, can you talk?”

_“Of course I can. What’s goin’ on? Is everything okay?”_

“Yeah. Yeah. Just… wanted to see how you’re doing. You still in Argentina?”

_“Yeah. It’s good. I bought a horse.”_

“Shut up.”

_“Swear to god. His name is_ Rayo _.”_

Derek smiles. “Lightening? So it’s not just cars you drive too fast.”

_“He’s actually a bit of a dud. I think I got scammed. Half the time I’m just trying to get_ _him to stop eating grass.”_

“You gonna trade him in?”

_“Nah. He’s growing on me. He’s a stubborn idiot, but he’s got a good heart. Reminds_ _me a little of someone I know,”_ she says, her voice dropping an octave. He hasn’t fooled her.

“Cora…”

_“Talk to me, Derek.”_

“It’s nothing.”

_“Listen, you jerk. I agreed not to come back with you when you said it would be too_ _dangerous, but I’m not gonna just sit here braiding my hair if I know you’re in trouble.”_

“Cora, don’t.” Shit. He shouldn’t have called her. The last thing he wants is for her to come here when the town’s swarming with bounty hunters looking to kill every werewolf they can get their hands on.

Bad timing.

“It’s okay,” he lies. He’d fucking give anything to see his sister right now. “You can’t do anything.”

_“Jesus Derek, what’s wrong?”_

“Cora, please," he begs, losing his composure. "I just needed to hear your voice. I can’t…. I can’t.”

_“Okay. It’s okay. Listen, whatever’s wrong, you don’t stop fighting, okay? You’re the strongest person I know. And I love you. And I… shit. I don’t know what else to say because you won’t tell me what’s wrong. You’re a good person, Derek. I don’t think you even realize how good.”_

Even if he can’t quite bring himself to believe that, Derek’s breathing a little easier now. “Okay,” he says, voice still a little shaky. “You can shut up now.”

_“Good, because I seriously suck at the whole pep talk thing.”_

“You really don’t.”

_“Well… you realize that if you don’t want me to take the next flight into LAX you’re_ _gonna have to call me every night for the next two months so I can make sure you’re_ _okay .Right?”_

“Fair enough.”

_“I’m serious. You miss one night and I’m packing a bag.”_

 

The night before Derek had left Argentina he and Cora had built a campfire on the beach in San Clemente, and stayed up until dawn sharing old stories that needed telling—stupid things that siblings normally know about each other when they aren’t separated for 6 years. He told her about his stint as a clerk at City Lights bookstore and about the time he lost five thousand bucks playing blackjack in Reno. She told him about the time she sailed around Cape Horn with an Australian werewolf named Luke who drank nothing but white wine spritzers.  It made it harder to leave her, but it was worth it. For the first time since Laura had died, he felt rooted again. Solid.

It’s something he can still feel. And it’s like it’s the limb that won’t fall off, the part of him that won’t be stolen. He has family. And as long as he has family, he’s not nothing.

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> This it the first TW fic I've ever posted, so feedback would be really, really awesome! Thanks!


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